I do not have all of the answers, but I am an old soul and in a past life we lived together in a cottage on top of a mountain. You put every wood panel in place and cut out each window and your salty sweat and hard-worked hands created a magical place. I still remember it; still ache for it and our life together there, in that time and space.
We spent our days walking barefoot through the forest, collecting berries and mushrooms and herbs and flowers. The trees knew us by name, and the moist ground reminded us daily that we came out of the soil and would once again return to it. But not yet. We had too much living to do.
At night, we would sip deep, scarlet wine straight from the bottle until our teeth and lips were stained. You would pull me close to you, and kiss me hard and passionately and sometimes I can still feel my heart racing from those moments. I can still taste the wine on your lips. I can still feel my body melting into you. I still hear the laughter and the quiet ways we would talk without speaking.
We would lay in bed, intertwined and it would be impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began. I still remember the way you would gently touch my hair and kiss my breasts and sometimes, the rain patting on our tin roof made me sure that The Universe was applauding those tender moments.
In that same bed, we would eventually birth our children; little humans created by a holy mixture of our souls and your wild hair and my dark freckles and natures overpowering energy and life force. The forest would be their playground, and we would smile as we heard them in the distant brush beating their chests and howling like cyotes.
They would return to us in the evening, from their secret world of nymphs and faeries and we would pull the sticks and leaves from their hair and kiss their rosy cheeks and wash the soil from their toes and fingernails in a warm bath smelling of lavendar oil. We would wrap them up in cotton pajamas, and the moon would watch over them through their open windows; the owls humming them to sleep.
A day never passed that I didn't look into your eyes and see my very soul reflecting back at me. You were my true soul mate. We both came from the Earth and I was born in you and you were born in me. In that cottage, our love was so intoxicating that at night I lay in bed drunk from spending each dreamy moment with you.
Years would pass; our bodies would age. And we would talk about death and I would always whisper that I wanted to go first; that living in a world without you would be unbearable. But you were wise, and reminded me that a soul never dies. It leaves the body and returns to the wind and rain and leaves and birds and deer and sunshine and each tiny blade of grass from where it initially came.
We were happy. I still remember it; still ache for it and our life together there, in that time and space.